


The First Noel (Holding Hands Remix)

by Schuyler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-04
Updated: 2004-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schuyler/pseuds/Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padma thinks England is an adventure</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Noel (Holding Hands Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> A remix of Jeanne's "The First Noel" written for the Rescribo challenge

Years later, Parvati will ask Padma if she ever thinks of India, and Padma will say always. That's not entirely true. She remembers the same things Parvati does (because they were always stuck at the hip, before and since), she just remembers some things clearer. 

She remembers the night their parents sat them down and broke it to them that they were moving to London, as if it were bad news. She remembers Parvati holding her hand and trembling just a little, as if she were scared. It sounded to Padma like one grand adventure. Their grandmother told them all sorts of tales and stories about England, but it sounded so different. "Different, yes," Grandmother had said. "Most different in the wintertime," and then laughed. 

It was miserably, frightfully cold in England. It didn't help that they arrived in October. Parvati whined and wished for India, but Padma was entranced by the shiny gray raincoats with bright silver buckles and matching hats and boots. The two looked like bells in them when they were bouncing back and forth between kerbs and rain puddles. She remembers the way Parvati's raincoat stayed absolutely stiff and still and bounced around her as she swayed and hopped. She remembers having to drag Parvati into that alley in the first place. 

London was an adventure, from the unusual cold and the beautiful, crisp foreign snow to the new smells and the new sounds and the new bedroom. She and Parvati shared a bedroom, a haphazard mess of things they brought home with two beds heaped high with blankets. Parvati's was always a disaster (she kicked them in her sleep), while Padma always took the time to carefully rearrange them each morning before twirling out to breakfast. 

She remembers that first Christmas, her first real Christmas, with the Morrises coming over from next door, bringing Thomas to sit on the floor with her and string garlands. Parvati never had the patience for pretty things. Thomas was in it for the popcorn, but Padma was intent, strung enough (mostly by herself) to wrap the whole of the tree. Thomas was a round boy, but quiet and still and kind of refreshing. She could hear the radio playing Christmas carols and it was lovely. She pressed a festive red cranberry-stain thumbprint to Thomas' cheek and remembers he fell down laughing. She pressed another to Parvati's cheek and was met with only silence. 

She let herself fall into the spirit, dragging Parvati along behind her, Parvati who still hadn't gotten used to the cold. That was the time when they really got to know all of their neighbours, Mr. Morley, the painter, Mrs. Abernathy, the widow. They and Thomas were the only three children in the little building and were everyone's children by the New Year. Mrs. Abernathy pieced together a tiny gingerbread house and promised to show them how to make it next year. Padma remembers that there was always a promise for next year at Mrs. Abernathy's, a reason for them to come back. Padma would have come back anyway. She found the English just as interesting as England. 

In India, she and Parvati had been attached at the hip, always liking the same people and the same things and being in the same place at the same time. England changed all that. Padma would never stop being fascinated with all of Britain, and all of Europe, and Parvati would always wish for India again. Padma knew this, couldn't help noticing that her sister wasn't quite as happy as she was, no matter what. When she broke her dolls, when she smashed the radio, when she refused to eat her mother's first attempt at fish and chips. But even years later in Scotland, when it was bitterly cold, Padma would hold Parvati's hands, warm them between her own, because she couldn't forget that they were sisters.


End file.
